


We Two

by Lise



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: But she's trying, Dark, Depression, Gen, Hurt Loki, Loki Has Issues, Loki's in a real bad place in this one you guys, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Thor: The Dark World, Psychological Horror, Repetitive Death Experiences, Sif doesn't really know what she's doing, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Temporary Character Death, like a lot of them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-20 04:17:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10654746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lise/pseuds/Lise
Summary: A sequel, of sorts, toThings Falling.Sif finds herself responsible for a Loki convinced he's being stalked by Hela and can't die. Odin is vanished and Thor is off on Midgard.This is very much not what she signed up for.





	We Two

**Author's Note:**

> So I...definitely wasn't planning a sequel to this fic, but at some point doing a meme on my Tumblr someone asked for more headcanons about it and I got kind of into the idea of a) writing Sif's POV and b) writing Loki's continued deterioration from the fucked up mess he was already to an _even more_ fucked up mess.
> 
> So then I wrote it and it ended up being...kind of a lot. 
> 
> I'm serious about those warnings for content about suicide, depression, and a lot of someone being very mentally unwell. If that's going to be a trigger for you, please be aware.

Something was wrong with the All-Father.

That much was known by now: what had begun as whispers in corners was now somewhat more than that. Sif had reacted to the rumors with disbelief and insult at first - how dare anyone spread this sort of slander - but she could no longer ignore the signs. There were even whispers that Odin All-Father was losing his mind - mad with grief, perhaps, at the treachery of his son and the death of his wife.

Sif was not certain, herself, how much to believe, but the All-Father had withdrawn from public life of late, appearing only rarely at feasts. When he did appear he seemed distracted and weary, his face full of shadows. Asgard whispered and Sif was afraid. Thor might have slipped away - she could not blame him, his own grief must be great, but she still resented his absence - but she had sworn to herself that she would ensure there was an Asgard to come home to, when he returned.

There had been a time when she would never have questioned that Asgard would stand forever. Doubts had crept in, since Thor’s exile, and that once-fact no longer seemed certain.

And now the All-Father wavered. The All-Father wavered, and he had not appeared at the weekly audience for petitioners, where she had intended to ask that he call Thor home. It was perhaps overbold of her to go to the All-Father’s personal quarters, but she had been appointed a member of his personal guard - her own punishment, where Volstagg, Hogun, and Fandral had been sent away - and that gave her certain allowances.

She knocked, readying her words, her careful explanation. She waited, but there was nothing. The door remained closed. When she touched it, she realized that she could feel the faint buzz of a ward, and something about it made her skin prickle.

It was not so strange that the All-Father should ward his rooms. There were dangers, certainly, or if nothing else it offered some privacy. Nonetheless, a faint unease crawled down Sif’s spine.

“All-Father?” She called, and felt something odd. Beneath her fingers, the ward flickered, like the magic maintaining it was failing.

That should not happen. Sif knew little of magic, but she knew enough to know that something as simple as a ward should hold steady without difficulty, even for the least of mages - which the All-Father was assuredly not. Not unless something drew his attention away. Or if he were injured.

The ward flickered again, and fell. Sif jerked back, alarm warring with unease at the idea of intruding, but she was a guard and something pricked at her instincts, urging her that something was  _ wrong.  _ She took hold of the handle and braced to smash the door with her shoulder, but it turned easily in her hand and she stumbled in, already reaching for her sword.

Warded, but unlocked? Why-

The rooms were empty. Everything looked orderly, Gungnir resting against the wall near the desk, but Sif could smell it, unmistakable and familiar: blood, and no small quantity.

The bedroom was empty as well when she rushed in, but the washroom door was closed, Sif lunged for it, thinking of assassins with her heart racing, but when she opened the door Sif froze.

The large bath sunken in the floor was full of water, but the body floating in it was not Odin’s. Sif’s eyes flicked wildly from the water, nearly the color of blood, to black hair fanned out around the head of a man who was supposed to have been dead already. For a moment she was certain that he  _ was _ , but then Loki gasped in a shallow breath and Sif managed to move, instinct taking over.

She dragged Loki out of the bath with a splash, wrestling his limp body onto the floor and reaching for towels, pressing them into the gashes on his arms. Her stomach turned as she saw the wounds that had healed and been reopened, several times. There was a knife sunk in the water. Her thoughts whirled with questions, some part of her thinking  _ it is possible this was a murder attempt, possible,  _ but she knew it was unlikely. The lack of signs of a struggle was clear enough.

Loki’s head lolled sideways but somehow, incredibly, he still breathed. He must have been nearly empty of blood but his heart staggered weakly on. “Heimdall,” she shouted, knowing he would hear, “send a healer to the All-Father’s chambers, immediately. And-”

And a guard, she meant to say, but something stopped her. She looked at Loki again, and started when she saw his eyes had drifted open.

“So it didn’t work, then,” he said, voice slurring so the words were almost unintelligible. “She didn’t come.”

Sif’s stomach clenched violently. She could think of two  _ she _ s that Loki might have been expecting, and neither seemed to bode well. She wanted to grab Loki and shake him and demand answers, and at the same time the thought of him dying here made her heart pound.

Loki blinked at her slowly. His eyes closed and his head lolled to the side. The bleeding seemed to have slowed, but she could not say if that was healing or just a lack of blood left to lose. Sif jammed her fingers to the side of his throat and found a pulse, weak but staggering onward.

She heard the door open. “Lady Sif, your brother claimed an emergency-”

_ Eir,  _ Sif thought with relief. Personal physician to the royal family. She would know how to be discreet. “Here,” she said, not moving her fingers. Loki didn’t rouse. Eir appeared in the doorway and sucked in a breath.

“What in the Nine…”

“I don’t know,” Sif said curtly. “I found him here, like this. I don’t know why, or what’s going on. He roused briefly, and spoke, but…”

Eir pushed Sif unceremoniously out of the way, but she did not object, stumbling back and standing. Her hands were bloody; she moved to wash them in the bath and stopped, staring at the red water. Mechanically, she triggered the drain.

“Foolish boy,” Eir was muttering. “Foolish,  _ foolish  _ boy.” Her hands glowed with magic, and she frowned at Loki’s slack face. “What did you  _ do? _ ”

“What is it?” Sif asked, more sharply than she should have, but Eir did not object.

“Something...resists my healing,” she said. “And yet the fact is, he should not be alive at all. His body is near drained of blood.” She paused. “Is there any sign of the All-Father?”

Sif shook her head. “None.”

Eir bent her head again, her frown deepening. The wounds closed slowly, the edges of the hideous gashes coming together into whole skin. Loki didn’t stir, his skin utterly devoid of color. Sif caught herself staring and jerked her eyes away.

“What do you intend to do?” Eir said, still frowning at Loki.

“Will he...live?” Sif asked. Eir pursed her lips.

“Most like, if he hasn’t died yet. Though he should still be watched.”

“He must know where the All-Father is,” Sif said. “We need him to tell us. But if everyone knew…” She bit her lip. “There would be panic. Might we...might we say that the All-Father is ill?”

“And that will not cause panic?” Eir asked acerbically.

“Less than revealing that the All-Father was replaced at some point by his mad son!” Sif said, more sharply than she meant to. She glanced at Loki, half expecting some sharp comment, but he lay dead still. “I think...I think we should keep this to ourselves, for now.”

“This,” Eir said. “You mean, Loki’s presence?” Sif nodded, and Eir sighed. “Do you intend to keep him here?”

“No,” Sif said after a brief hesitation. “There must be somewhere secure…”

Eir’s lips twisted. “There are...rooms, set aside for those warriors driven mad by battle. Quiet places for them to heal, but also to keep others safe from their rages. One of those might serve, though Loki’s magic is...greater than mine. I do not know if it is stronger than the wards on the rooms.”

“I suppose we’ll find out,” Sif said grimly. “I will stay, as a guard, at least until we know that he will not slip away.” She looked down at Loki, pressing down the flicker of disquiet in her stomach. “And I will have the truth from him, when he wakes.”

“Lady Sif…” Eir paused. “Go gently,” she said after a moment. “You can see as well as I that this is not the action of...a healthy person. It is plain to me that Loki is sick, and that is reason for caution.”

“I can handle myself, Lady Eir,” Sif said stiffly, but she shook her head.

“I do not only mean caution for yourself.”

Sif looked at Loki again. There were hollows around his eyes and his lips looked as though he’d been chewing at them - an old anxious habit. It’d been years since she’d seen any trace of it.

“I will be careful,” she said.

* * *

The rooms - called the Resting Chambers, apparently - were plain and unadorned. There was a small washroom, a bed, a cabinet for clothes. All the furniture was fastened securely to the floor, and all was made of one piece. Harder to break, Sif supposed. There was no mirror in the washroom, and it took Sif a moment to realize that it was not just to protect residents from their reflection.

She felt a small chill, but she was aware that she was focusing on these things to avoid the more important: Loki, lying still on the bed. He hadn’t moved in some time, though in the last hour he had stirred twice, both times murmuring something under his breath that she could not quite catch.

So Loki had faked his own death and taken the All-Father’s place. That was the best she could figure, although it didn’t make much sense. Thor would not easily accept the loss of his brother - how could Loki have fooled him well enough? And how had he got rid of the All-Father?

And what was wrong with him now? Perhaps the strangeness in the All-Father’s behavior could simply be attributed to Loki taking his place, but that strangeness was recent. It made more sense that he had done so longer ago, which meant that this madness was new.

_ She didn’t come. _ Who had Loki been expecting? Frigga? Death herself?

Loki made a small noise and Sif took a step toward the bed. His eyes dragged slowly open, but he didn’t sit up or look toward her. He raised one of his arms instead, studying it. After a moment, Sif realized he was looking for scars.

“Eir healed you,” she said, her voice sharp. She couldn’t avoid it. “You owe her thanks.”

Loki let his arm fall. “Is that what I owe her?” His voice still dragged like he was drunk. Sif stiffened.

“Do not slight her efforts.”

“I do not,” Loki murmured. “Only her results.” He made an odd sound it took Sif a moment to process as a laugh. “I thought for certain…”

He trailed off. Sif leaned forward. “Where is the All-Father?”

Loki didn’t reply. His head was cocked slightly to the side as though he were listening to something else. Voices only a madman could hear? “Yes, well,” he murmured, though it didn’t sound like it was directed at her. “You can’t say I didn’t try.”

“Loki,” Sif said, trying to sound firm rather than harsh.

“The All-Father, yes,” he said. “I heard.” His lips quirked. “Haven’t you heard? I am the All-Father. Or I was. I’m not certain  _ what  _ I am now.”

“Damn you,” Sif said. “Give me a straight answer.”

“Or what?” Loki did not sound terribly concerned. “You will drag me to the executioners? Or perhaps just do it yourself. Loyal Sif.” The words were familiar mockery, though the tone was wrong. “It might even work.”

Sif twitched. “If you have even a scrap of loyalty to Asgard left-”

“I do not have a scrap of anything left, dear Sif,” Loki said, his eyes drifting closed. “Terribly sorry to disappoint.”

Sif growled. “You coward,” she said. “You-”

“Coward?” Loki’s eyes snapped open, suddenly sharpening. “You know nothing. You have no  _ idea.  _ You’ve never been very good at seeing beyond what’s in front of your nose.” Sif stared at him, startled, but after a moment Loki’s eyes turned up toward the ceiling. “Go on. Do what you like. I have nothing for you.”

Sif felt a twitch in her jaw, but she shoved her anger down. She would  _ not  _ be baited. She made herself stalk over to the chair by the table (both fixed to the floor) and sit down.

“You slashed your wrists open,” she said bluntly. “Why?”

“Curiosity,” Loki said. “Call it an experiment.” He flexed his fingers. “I was sure I cut a tendon near the end. Made everything much more difficult.”

Sif’s stomach turned but she kept it off her face. “Eir would have healed that, too. What sort of  _ experiment _ ?”

“A failed one, it seems.” Loki sounded strangely...regretful. Sif stared at him, trying to make sense of that, but she couldn’t quite fathom it. It seemed clear that he had been seeking death, but then why call it an  _ experiment,  _ like he was not certain of the outcome? Had he been testing something else?

“Eir said your wounds...resisted healing.”

“Did they?” Loki looked thoughtful. “That  _ is  _ interesting.” Sif frowned.

“Explain,” she said. Loki said nothing. “Loki,” she said more loudly, “tell me what is going on.”

“Tell me something,” Loki said after another moment of silence. “Do I look dead to you?”

Sif stared at him. “No,” she said. “Near to it, perhaps, but I assure you that you still live.”

“Hm.” Loki tilted his head back like he was thinking about that. “Do you believe in Hel, Sif?”

She had never been able to follow the odd leaps of Loki’s thoughts, but now they seemed to make even less sense. “I suppose,” she said slowly. “The souls of the dead must go somewhere, and they cannot all journey to Valhalla to be reborn in the cycle of time.”

“Hmm.” Loki fell quiet again. “Sif, would you humor me?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Probably not.”

“Oh, I think you will like this.” Loki turned his head and looked at her with a peculiar expression on his face. “Would you kindly stab me? Nothing glancing, mind. I’m thinking something assuredly fatal.” His eyes narrowed a fraction. “Swift would probably be better.”

Sif blinked, almost rocking back as from a blow before stopping herself. “What?”

Loki raised his eyebrows at her. “You want to, don’t you? You are ever so angry. I can tell, under that veneer of calm. Shall I remind you of why? I killed Thor. I probably would have killed you. I might have done any number of monstrous things to the All-Father. I-”

“Stop,” Sif said, her voice vibrating. Shock far overwhelmed anger, whatever Loki said, but she was still glad she didn’t have a weapon. It was apparently impossible to bring one into these rooms at all. “I am not going to - are you-”  _ Mad,  _ she realized she was going to ask, but the answer was  _ clearly  _ ‘yes.’

Loki appeared to have stopped listening to her. “It’s like a puzzle. Or a joke. But what’s the punchline?” He frowned, and then focused on her again. “Well?”

“No,” Sif said, her voice hard. “I am not going to  _ stab  _ you.”

Loki narrowed his eyes, then sighed. “Probably for the best. Would you prefer strangulation? I suppose I really ought to try some variety.”

“Are you  _ mocking  _ me?” Sif said, jerking to her feet. “I am not some - bloodthirsty  _ fiend. I  _ called for Eir to heal you.”

Loki blinked. “You should not have done that.”

“You were bleeding to death!” Sif said, her voice rising to a shout, forgetting every injunction to keep calm. “I found you barely breathing and I saved your life-”

Loki’s eyebrows lifted again. “What makes you think that I wanted to be saved?”

Sif stared at him. She supposed she should have expected that, but he didn’t sound -  _ sad,  _ or  _ unhappy.  _ He sounded almost careless, as though all of this were someone else’s concern. Sif shook her head jerkily.

“That is your madness speaking,” she said.

“My madness.  _ Ha _ .” Loki’s lips quirked. “An interesting proposal.”

“Loki…” Sif shook her head. What was she supposed to say? How was she supposed to talk to a madman?

“If you are not going to help,” Loki said, sounding a little more his old self, “you can go.”

“ _ Help, _ ” Sif said. “You mean by killing you.”

“Trying to, anyway.” Loki rubbed at his chest like it was aching. “Does it feel cold to you?”

“No,” Sif said slowly. It felt quite comfortable to her. She stood, slowly, and moved over to lay a hand on Loki’s forehead to check for fever. It felt decidedly odd, treating him like something other than what he was: a traitor, a threat, an enemy. But at the same time it felt familiar.

Loki’s forehead didn’t feel warm. On the contrary, he felt cold, something unnervingly like corpse-flesh in the texture of his skin. She snatched her hand away. “What is wrong with you?”

“A great many things, I think,” Loki said. He dropped his head back and muttered something under his breath. “Yes, I know,” he said. “I  _ tried.  _ You know I did. I don’t know why it didn’t work.”

“Who are you talking to?” Sif asked, unease prickling down her spine.

“Hela, of course,” Loki said, gesturing at empty space. “Come to claim my soul, what remains. She’s a bit irritated with me because she can’t get at it.”

Sif stared at him. She had known Loki was mad, but  _ this... _ this was beyond anything she had expected. Speaking to empty air, convinced that he was being followed by the Queen of the Dead, and seemingly certain that… “What do you mean, ‘she can’t get at it’?”

“I can’t die.” An awful sounding laugh bubbled up from Loki’s throat. “Haven’t you caught on, yet? I thought perhaps if it was my own hands...but it seems I failed.”

“I saw you,” Sif said angrily. “You were bleeding. You were  _ dying.  _ It was only the fact that I was there-”

“Are you certain?” Loki sat up, suddenly, and pulled off his shirt in one smooth movement.

Sif jerked to her feet, ready to tell him that she was  _ hardly  _ going to be seduced by a madman, but she stopped mid-word. Not only because of how  _ thin  _ Loki was - almost wasted where he had been slender - but because of the ugly, livid scar down the center of his chest. No healer had touched it, that much was clear.

Loki spread his hands. “I could show you the other where the blade came out my back,” he said bluntly, and suddenly his voice sounded a great deal clearer. “I could tell you in detail how it felt, too. Dying. My throat filling up with blood as my ruined heart beat my life away. It hurt a great deal.” Loki blinked, and his arms fell to his sides. “And then it was over. And then it wasn’t.” He dropped back down to the bed. “But perhaps you can do better than one of the Kursed.”

Sif managed to keep her mouth from hanging open. It explained how Thor could be fooled. And she remembered how Loki had seemed so still,  _ dead _ , and then the sudden gasp of breath.

_ No,  _ she thought.  _ Impossible. _

“I will not kill you,” she said staunchly. “At the least I must keep you alive until Thor returns.”

Loki sighed as though she were being very tiresome. “Does this not count as betraying him? I seem to recall your making certain promises.”

She remembered. And on learning how he had died - or how it had seemed that he had died - she had felt guilt, remembering a childhood friend, nearly a brother, who seemed at the last to have proven himself in giving his life for Thor’s. “A promise is not a binding oath,” she said. “Things have changed.”

* * *

Sif did not intend to go back. Let Eir ask the questions. Let Eir tend the madman.

“What do you want?” Sif asked bluntly, standing squarely in the doorway with her feet planted. Loki was lying on the bed much as she’d last seen him, looking as though he’d scarcely moved.

“Do you know, I am honestly not certain,” Loki said. “What I want. I do not think it matters anymore, if it ever has. I have but one more path to walk, only I cannot find the way.”

Sif tried not to grind her teeth. “Why will you not tell us where the All-Father is? You cannot think you will regain the throne.”

“I do not,” Loki said. “But I will tell you the same thing I told Eir - what can you give me for it?”

“That’s why I  _ asked, _ ” Sif said, her voice rising. “What do you want in exchange?”

Loki’s lips quirked. “I want Frigga to be alive. I want Odin on his knees begging my forgiveness. I want to be done. Dead. Give me any one of those and I will gladly give you what you wish to know.”

Sif pressed her lips together. “Why are you so determined to die?” She demanded.

“What else is left?” Loki smiled, a faint and sad expression. The back of Sif’s neck prickled uneasily. “Besides - do you think the All-Father will order anything else, when he does return? He spared me once. I doubt he will make the same mistake twice.” He looked thoughtful. “I wonder if  _ that  _ would work. Surely there no no force that can join my head back to my body.”

Her stomach turned. Reluctantly, she said, “is that not a reason to tell us where he is, then?” Surely Odin would not have Loki killed, not when his madness was so plain. But then again, he might also think Loki was too dangerous to live, and there was one penalty for treason. A penalty Loki had already escaped once before.

Loki seemed to be turning that over, but shook his head slowly. “No,” he said. “No...selfish though it may be, I have no wish to face the All-Father again.”

“But he is alive,” Sif pressed. Loki hummed.

“Yes,” he said after a moment. “I can give you that much. He is alive.”

Sif exhaled. That was something, at least. “Thank you,” she said grudgingly. “That is...good to hear.”

“Do you truly think it is for the best to keep me here until Thor returns?” Loki asked. “He believes I am dead already. Do you think he will thank you for shattering that pleasant illusion?”

“ _ Pleasant illusion _ ?” Sif could not keep the anger out of her voice. “Thor  _ grieved  _ you. Twice, he mourned your loss. He  _ fled  _ Asgard because he could not bear to remain, when your and Frigga’s ghosts haunted every room for him. And you call it a  _ pleasant illusion _ ?”

Loki looked genuinely startled. Oh, he wiped it away quickly enough, but Sif still saw it. She scowled. “You are an idiot,” she told him. “A selfish, cowardly idiot.” Loki’s eyelids closed, the rest of the expression that had been on his face vanishing.

“You flatter me,” he murmured. “And you did not hear what he said to me. I think Thor would prefer me heroically dead than alive and mad. No, you are doing Thor no favors.”

“You think too lowly of your brother,” Sif said.

“He is not my brother,” Loki said, with an air of repeating something that should not need to be repeated. “And I suppose next you will tell me that he deserves better? I am aware.”

“Whatever he deserves, I know what he wants,” Sif said stubbornly. “For good or ill.”

“We both know which it is,” Loki said, sounding faintly amused. “Ah, Sif. No one can claim you are not steadfast as stone walls.” She frowned, half sure that was an insult. “Your loyalty does you credit. As your persistence. But no one will thank you for that, while a great many will thank you for seeing to my last wish.” His eyes almost sparkled when he looked at her. “Perhaps even Hela herself. The gratitude of a death goddess is no small thing.”

“Do you persist in that?” Sif said harshly. She had seen warriors like this before - old warriors, mostly, who had seen too many battles and seemed to greet the idea of death like an old friend. But Loki was not old, and he was not facing battle. “Hela is not following you, Loki. No one seeks your death but you yourself.”

“That seems unlikely even if you were right about Hela,” Loki said. “I am quite sure any number of people would seek my death, were it known that I were still alive.”

Sif made a frustrated noise. “You know what I mean.”

“Do I?” Loki’s faint, slightly mocking smile faded. “You have not seen her, Sif. I have.”

“You  _ think  _ you have,” Sif corrected. “But no one else can, and…people…see things that are not there, when they are unwell.”

“Madmen do,” Loki said, something of both correction and mockery about the words. “Yes, Sif, I know. And I do not truly expect you to believe me. But that does not make it not so.”

“If Hela wishes to have you,” Sif said, “then why should she need  _ your  _ help?”

“I do not know,” Loki said. “But it seems she does.”

“And why are you so determined to do her duty for her?” Sif demanded, her voice heating. She was not even entirely certain  _ why  _ his demeanor made her so angry. “The Loki I knew would never simply lie down and surrender, even to Death herself.”

“Have we not established that I am not the Loki you knew?” Loki asked archly, but then sighed. “Some things are inevitable, Lady Sif. Death especially. I cannot escape forever and I would rather make my own choice as to the how and when.”

Sif frowned. “This is your despair and madness speaking, nothing more.”

“All I am now is despair and madness, so that makes a fair bit of sense,” Loki said, rolling over to put his back squarely to her. Sif tried to argue with him further, but Loki ignored her until she grew too frustrated and irritated to go on. She left, only just managing not to slam the door behind her.

* * *

Sif pressed her hand to the door of the room where Loki was kept. She was not sure why she was here - why she kept coming back at all, when her conversations with Loki were nothing but useless circles of madness and stomach-turning determination for his own demise.

She opened the door and found Loki choking at the end of a rope. There was a noose around his neck attached to something in the ceiling where she was sure there had been no fixture before. She lunged forward, grabbing his legs and lifting his body to ease the pressure on his neck. There was nothing to sever the rope with, and she knew even with the tension loosed the noose would already be tight enough, and Loki’s throat might swell closed even without it.

She fumbled in her pocket for a small device Eir had given her, and pressed her thumb against it until it glowed red. Then she focused on trying to loosen the rope with one hand.

No, Sif realized as she tried to slip her fingers between Loki’s neck and the noose. Not rope. A twisted sheet.

Sif swore. “Loki,” she said. She jostled him roughly when he didn’t respond. “You damned idiot.”

Loki’s inhale was a wheeze. “You again,” he said, and his exhale whistled. “Your timing is-”

She heard him stop breathing.

“Damn you,” Sif hissed, and wrenched at the noose. It gave, finally, and she pulled until she could draw Loki’s head out of it and lay him on the floor. There was a dark purple ring around his throat. His eyelids fluttered and he had the nerve to smile at her.

Eir burst in, finally. She took one look at Loki and the dangling noose and let out her own savage oath that made Sif blink. She dropped down beside Loki and laid her hands on his neck.

“Stop fighting me,” she said, after a moment, seemingly to Loki. The bruises began to fade, but slowly, and they were not fully gone when Eir pulled her hands away. But Loki breathed, if weakly. “There is still that - resistance,” she said. “He doesn’t heal like he should. It is like…” She frowned. “Like there is some other, greater wound that draws my magic, but if there is I cannot sense it.”

“You cannot heal death, Eir,” Loki mumbled. His eyes were still closed, and he did not sound quite conscious, but he clearly listened.

“You are not dead, Loki,” Eir said. “Despite your efforts in that direction.”

“Not yet,” Loki said. “But I am. Halfway. It just needs to finish.”

Eir glanced at Sif, who shook her head. “You need to stop this,” she said.

“No,” Loki said almost dreamily. “I need to end it.” He opened his eyes, an odd expression on his face suddenly, fear and distress. “No,” he said, seemingly to empty air. “Don’t leave me. Please. You have to stay.”

“Loki,” Eir said sternly. “There is no one there.”

A moment later he slumped and let out a shuddering sigh. “Not anymore,” he said, sounding suddenly very sad. “She’s gone.”

“Hela is not here,” Sif said, ignoring a quelling look from Eir. Ignoring this delusion had clearly not made it go away. “She has never been here. She is a product of your ill mind. Nothing more.”

“You are wrong.” Loki did not sound pleased by it. “You want to believe that, but you are wrong.” He let out a wretched, weak laugh. “Norns, at least she wants me.”

Sif grabbed the sheet and began trying to unknot it to have something to do with her hands.

“If you try to end your life again,” Eir said, “I will put you in a sleep so deep you will not even dream.”

“And lose your chance to find the All-Father?” Loki’s smile was mirthless, but it faded quickly. “If I told you, would you let me go?”

“To do what?” Sif burst out. Loki looked at her like it was a stupid question, and she shook her head violently. “You cannot think to just -  _ keep trying. _ ”

“Something has to work eventually.”

Sif felt ill. Deeply, profoundly sick. “For a warrior to seek their own death is dishonor,” she said.

“I am no warrior,” Loki said. “And what further dishonor is there than what I already have incurred?” Sif did not have a good answer ready for that. Loki’s eyes drifted closed. “The All-Father is on Midgard. Oklahoma. I do not know the name of the city.”

Sif glanced at Eir. “I will send someone to search,” she said after a moment. “Hogun, I think. He is discreet.”

“And him?” Sif said, gesturing at Loki.

“Stay close,” Eir said. “And watch him.” She paused. “He should not have been able to hurt himself at all. There are provisions…” She shook her head. “Something strange is going on here.”

She left quietly. Sif turned back to Loki, who had made no move to rise. His lips were moving silently, but she could just read the words.  _ Please come back,  _ he was saying.  _ Please come back. _

“I  _ will  _ keep you alive,” Sif said near savagely. “You will not die. Do you hear me? You owe a debt and I will not let you weasel out of it.”

Loki did not respond to her, simply went on with his silent prayer. Sif’s skin crawled.

“Loki,” she said more softly. “Speak to me.”

His lips stilled. “Of what?” He said after a long moment, sounding tired.

“Of...of what has happened to you.” She sat down, after a moment’s consideration on the floor. “You were not always like this. You...changed. And even if...you took the All-Father’s place after the Convergence, did you not? But all seemed...fine, then.”

It was uncomfortable, to realize that it was Loki who had pardoned her and the others for treason. It made her wonder if the All-Father would have done the same.

“Fine,” Loki said. “Nothing has ever been  _ fine,  _ Lady Sif. I could pretend, for a time, but the truth always catches up.” He swallowed, though it looked painful. “I should have died as a babe. Or in the Void. Or on Svartalfheim. Or when I opened my veins again and again, or...you see? Is it madness to recognize the inevitable?”

“What you say seems to suggest otherwise,” she said. “That - that perhaps the Norns are keeping you alive for some purpose.”

“Not a purpose I would like, I think.” Loki opened his eyes and looked at her, and the bone-deep weariness in his eyes took her aback.

“Sif,” he said. “Please. I would beg you if I thought it would do any good, but I know that you were always...resistant to my persuasion. But surely you must recognize the need. You know where the All-Father is, now. He will return. If you will not do me the courtesy of killing me yourself, then let me go and I will swear to slink off to some dark corner where I shall not trouble you again.” A muscle twitched in his jaw. “I ask you in the name of the friendship you used to bear me. I do not know what need you think there is, but I will swear any oath you like that I will do Asgard and the Nine Realms no harm.”

Sif swallowed hard, her own throat seeming to close. She shook her head, though it took her a long moment to find her voice. “No,” she rasped, and repeated, “no. I will not. Your fate is not mine to decide, nor yours.”

Loki’s shoulders slumped. “I feared you would say as much. There is no escape, is there? No way out.”

Sif shifted. “Loki…” She sighed. “I am sorry.”

“So am I,” Loki said, after a long quiet. He covered his eyes with one hand. “I wish Hela were here. Sometimes she wears Frigga’s face, and I am grateful.”

Sif felt a pang. Some part of her hissed  _ you should not speak her name,  _ and another ached with shared grief.

“It is a trick,” she said. “Nothing real, Loki. Your mind playing with you.”

“You say that with such certainty,” he said.

“I  _ am  _ certain,” she said, though Eir’s words crawled across her mind,  _ something strange is going on here. He should not have been able to hurt himself.  _ “Your madness has overtaken you, and seeks to destroy you.”

Loki made a rough, choking sound that alarmed Sif for a moment before she realized it was a laugh. “You speak as though it is something separate.  _ My madness.  _ Like it is - an inconvenient pet, and not a part of me, woven into my bones.”

“It is not,” Sif objected, though she didn’t quite know why she bothered. “It is - a sickness. Of the mind and not the body, but no more innate than a fever. If you would accept that…”

“You are wrong,” Loki interrupted. “I have always been mad. You know that, in your heart of hearts. It is a matter of degree only. I may be  _ more  _ mad now than I was, but it was there from the beginning. You sensed it. It is why you never trusted me.”

Sif jerked. “What? I  _ did  _ trust you. You were a friend, a shield-companion. It is true that later I did not...always believe your motives were good, or your methods…” She supposed that was not truly trust, perhaps. But Loki had  _ earned  _ that mistrust by his actions. Which was...what he was saying. But somehow she still- “...but for a long time I would have trusted you with my life.”

Loki opened one eye. “You believe that,” he said. “You must; you are a very poor liar. And yet you barely waited an hour to betray me.” Sif frowned, and he laughed, though it sounded rough and bitter. “You don’t remember? Or perhaps just don’t think of it as betrayal. Thor. You went to fetch him, after I - supposedly your king at the time - had told you not to.”

Sif stiffened. “We needed to,” she said. “Thor needed to come home-”

“Why?” Loki interrupted. “Because I could not be trusted with the throne?” The trap in that question was obvious.

“You tried to kill Thor,” she said, her voice turning cold. Loki’s eyes turned toward the ceiling.

“ _ Did  _ kill Thor,” he said. “Everyone forgets that.” Sif frowned, but Loki did not seem to be paying attention. “I needed him to stay away. You would have brought him back to ruin everything. It seemed…” He sighed. “Well. Everything seems terribly stupid now. As well I just gave Gungnir to Frigga and took a swan dive off the Observatory. Then perhaps we would not be here now.” More quietly, he added, “perhaps she would still be alive.”

Sif stared at him, frown deepening. She did not know what to make of half of what he was saying. Had he only sent the Destroyer because they had gone? If she and the Warriors had stayed back, would Loki have left Thor alone? But then Thor might never have been restored.

If Loki had given the throne to Frigga, or refused her giving it to him in the first place...perhaps she would have brought Thor back. And then...then what?

And if Loki  _ had  _ just thrown himself into the abyss then...Sif’s stomach turned uneasily. Surely Heimdall would have stopped him. Surely. And if he hadn’t…? Loki might have survived, just as he had before. Or not. Thor would blame himself for not being there, even more than he had for not stopping Loki’s fall. But when the Dark Elves attacked, if Loki was not there to take Thor and Jane to Svartalfheim…

Too many threads to follow.

“I do not hold it against you,” Loki said, his voice quieter, distant. “Not trusting me. You always were clever. Sharp-eyed. And you were right, as it turned out.”

“Right about what?” Sif asked.

“That I can’t be trusted,” Loki said.

“You could, once,” Sif insisted. “You’ve changed. You used to be - you  _ were  _ my friend. But you became...strange.”

“I have always been strange,” Loki said. He sounded tired, as though he were repeating something that ought to be obvious. “Just as I’ve always been mad. I just gave up on trying to hide it.”

* * *

She was back again. The All-Father had not been found yet - apparently he was still hidden from Heimdall’s sight, Loki either unable or unwilling to change that - but Hogun was scouring Midgard. He would be found. 

And Loki…

What was to be done with Loki? Sif didn’t know. She didn’t know what to think. It ought to be simple - he was a traitor, a liar who had overthrown Odin and usurped Asgard’s throne. But he had not...done anything so terrible. Had not driven Asgard into the ground. All had been running astonishingly smoothly, really, until this recent madness that had taken him so suddenly. 

And however unwillingly, however reluctantly...Sif pitied him. As he was now, it was hard to think of Loki as dangerous to anyone but himself. It was easy to remember a boy who had been a friend. A young man who had been a shield-brother, who she had cared for. Who was now wounded, a shadow of himself.  _ All I am now is despair and madness,  _ he had said, and Sif was afraid it was true. 

But she was the warrior Sif, and would not give up easily.

“You must eat,” she said, gesturing at the untouched tray. 

“Why?” Loki was sitting up today, though leaning against the wall. There were deep shadows under his eyes. “All things considered that seems somewhat counterproductive.” 

Sif clenched her jaw. “Starvation is a slow death and not a certain one. Long before it took you, I would hold you down and force you to eat.”

Loki cocked his head a fraction to the side. “Why are you so determined?” He asked. “You argue so forcefully for my life. Almost fight me for it. Why?”

“You were a friend,” Sif said. 

“The key word being  _ were, _ ” Loki said. “What am I now? Asgard’s traitorous son. Thor’s murderer. A demon in Aesir skin.” His eyes were strangely intent. “Is it for Asgard’s sake? Because you think it shall not be justice unless I am judged by the All-Father himself?” 

_ Yes,  _ Sif meant to say, but she shook her head. “No,” she said, her tongue thick. “It is not for Asgard’s sake.” 

“Then why? For Thor’s? Because you still believe-”

“For yours,” Sif interrupted. “Because I  _ remember.  _ I remember when you used to laugh, and not with cruelty. I remember when we rode together, fought together; when you healed my wounds and I tried to stitch yours.”

Loki’s expression faded to blankness. “You were always a poor hand with a needle.” 

Sif swallowed hard. “I remember when you made fools of those pathetic asses who mocked me.”

“Those days are gone,” Loki said after a brief pause. “That person is gone. I am something else now.”

Sif shook her head. “I am not so sure.”

“Ah, Sif,” Loki said wearily. “You always dig in your heels at the worst of times.” 

“The worst?” Sif shook her head and picked up the bowl, holding it out. “You should know better than that. I dig in my heels every chance I get. Eat.” 

Loki shook his head, a very faint smile touching the corners of his mouth. “You are a good woman,” he said. “You will serve Thor well someday.” 

Sif met his eyes levelly, still holding out the bowl. “Right now I will settle for getting one stubborn and stupid princeling to eat his soup.” 

Loki looked down, smile growing fractionally before it was gone, but he took the bowl. He picked up the spoon and blew on it, and froze.

“Oh,” Loki said, his eyes widening where they looked over Sif’s shoulder. She felt something brush against her, like a soft breeze, and glanced to look where Loki’s gaze was directed. She heard a choking sound behind her and turned back to see Loki clutching at his throat, blood streaming through his fingers, the bowl of soup overturned on the floor.

Sif cried out in alarm, fumbling for the key to summon Eir, lunging for Loki and grabbing for the bedclothes only to remember that there were none out of fear Loki might make another noose. She searched wildly for something, one hand pressed down on top of Loki’s. Finally in desperation she yanked off her gauntlets and stripped off her shirt, shoving it against his throat.

“What did you do?” She shouted. “What did you  _ do, _ ” how had he managed to, there was nothing sharp  _ here- _

Loki’s eyes were wide and terrified, she realized, staring at her full of panic. Her nerves jangled. It had only been a second. Not time for Loki to draw a weapon, let alone use it.

He was bleeding too fast. Her shirt wasn’t enough to staunch it, and Loki’s eyes were starting to look glassy. “Damn you,” she hissed. “ _ No _ . She cannot have you.”

The light faded out of Loki’s eyes and they went dull. The flow of blood slowed, no heartbeat pumping it out. Sif stared down at him, realizing slowly that she was shaking. Loki’s eyes stared at nothing, and she reached out slowly to close the lids. She realized slowly that her hesitation was out of expectation. She had believed Loki after all, about his absurd claim that he could not die.

The bed was soaked with blood. Sif sought for the weapon he must have used and could not find it. Could it be that his magic…?

Where was Eir? She looked at the disc she had dropped and pressed it again, but it did not glow. She let it fall back to the floor, staring dully at Loki.

It upset her, seeing him like this. Dead. Dead, and died mired in madness and at his own hand, so he could not find Valhalla. She closed her eyes and said a prayer for his soul anyway.

She moved slowly, pulling her wadded up shirt away and dropping it on the floor, then lowering Loki’s blood-soaked hands down to his sides. Looking at the gash, it seemed oddly shallow to have done so much damage.

No, she thought, frowning. It  _ was  _ too shallow. And...at the edges there was something that looked like...scar tissue?

Leaning forward, she became certain. It was scar tissue. Livid and red, like the scar on Loki’s chest. And she could see the wound...healing. Or closing, at any rate; proper healing should not scar like that. It was already half gone, but when she placed her hand over Loki’s mouth there was no breath, and her hand on his chest found no pulse.

Sif’s skin crawled and she shivered.

Loki made a choking sound. Blood ran out of his mouth, and his chest rose with a hideous gurgling noise. Sif moved mechanically to turn him to his side and he coughed up a clot of blood the size of a gold coin as his pulse started to flutter weakly in his neck. Sif’s stomach churned, but she sat still and watched Loki come back to life.

He’d been dead. Her hands were covered in his lifeblood that still soaked the bed, his eyes had been glassy and dull. Sif had seen enough death to know what it looked like.

And now he was breathing. Slow, and rasping, but still.

His eyes were open, she realized, just barely. “Loki,” she said, her voice shaking. He didn’t answer, and she tried again, shaking his shoulder. “ _ Loki. _ ”

“Cold,” he said, and indeed he’d started to shiver. She looked for something to throw over him, but there was nothing. Finally, when she pressed the disc this time, it glowed.

“Eir will be here soon,” she said. “When she comes I will get you - a blanket, fresh clothing.” Loki blinked. He did not seem wholly present, and Sif reached out hesitantly and touched his face. “Do you hear me?”

“Sif?” He swallowed, though it seemed to be difficult. “I died. I was…” The shivering intensified. Was this what it had been like before? she wondered unwillingly. Waking on Svartalfheim alone with the cold of death in his bones?

“You are alive now,” Sif said, trying to sound soothing.

Loki made a miserable, unhappy sound. “I am so tired,” he said. “So tired of...coming back. She grows impatient and it - it  _ hurts. _ ”

She heard a startled exclamation and turned to see Eir with her hand to her mouth. Looking at the blood, Sif thought. “He lives,” she said grimly, before Eir could ask. She stepped inside.

“What happened?”

“Please,” Loki said, something horribly plaintive in his voice. “Eir, you know...must have...ashroot. Heartsbane. Something to let me sleep without dreams. Forever.”

“I am a healer, not a killer,” Eir said frostily. “Sif, how did this happen? How did a weapon…”

“There is no weapon,” Sif said wearily. “At least not that I could see.”

“I told you,” Loki said. “She grows impatient. She won’t go. Not until I do. Eir,  _ please. _ ”

“No,” she said again, but her eyes meeting Sif’s were worried, confused. Frightened. “The All-Father will be here soon. He may know…”

Loki shuddered. “I don’t belong here,” he said, seemingly not hearing. “I have always belonged to her. From birth.”

“Loki,” Eir said, a peculiar warning in her voice.

“Sif,” Loki said. “Even monsters...deserve mercy.” His skin - rippled, and changed. She jerked back from the Jotun with Loki’s face, near instinctual revulsion surging in her.

“You cannot think to provoke me by pretending-”

“No pretending,” Loki said. His red eyes closed. “Not anymore. Maybe if it is you...a friend…”

She grabbed his shoulder without thinking, and started when she realized it didn’t burn. “No, Loki,” she said. “I am not going to kill you. I will not. Nor will anyone else.”

“You cannot fight Hela herself,” Loki said. His skin faded back to normal from her touch. “Not even you, Sif.”

_ But I will. Hela and your madness both, be they one and the same or separate evils.  _ “Try me,” she said, and reached out to grip his wrist. “I  _ will  _ keep you alive. I swear it.”


End file.
